<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Tempests by hobgoblin123</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26630263">Tempests</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobgoblin123/pseuds/hobgoblin123'>hobgoblin123</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, First Time, Geraldness, M/M, Torture, eyeopeners for both</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:28:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,065</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26630263</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobgoblin123/pseuds/hobgoblin123</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerald harbours a crush the size of Novatlantis. So does Damien. Unfortunately for both of them, it takes quite a lot to come to terms with it.</p>
<p>Adding of notes impossible, so I have to do it here.</p>
<p>Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire Trilogy, and no profit whatsoever is intended.</p>
<p>A/N1: This has been posted on ffnet ages ago. Following an advice to aspiring authors I found somewhere in the Internet, I pruned it. And pruned it again. It makes sense.</p>
<p>A/N2: There's something strange about writing porn. I think most of us start rather careful and get bolder over time, just to go 'all bets are off' eventually, but weirdly that's not the end of the story. I don't know whether it's the bloody menopause or something else entirely, but I find myself getting weary of writing porn. Anyone else experiencing the same???</p>
<p>A/N3: Kisses to all of you, my lovelies! Stay safe!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tempests</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>ooooooooooooooooooooooooo</p>
<p>Now would I give a thousand furlongs / of sea for an acre of barren ground</p>
<p>(William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act I scene 1)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wondering what the heck he was supposed to do when the storm Tarrant had raised would hit them before his companion could safely emerge from his shelter belowdecks, Damien closed his fingers tighter around the moist wheel. Damn the man in general and the needs and restrictions of his undead body in particular!</p>
<p>But deep down in his heart he was well aware that he wasn't angry. Not really, anyway. Being scared shitless came much closer to the matter, not altogether surprising with regard to the fact that he'd always hated open water. But there was something else weighing heavily on his mind, something more terrifying than all storms and quakes combined.</p>
<p>Damien sighed softly. For months on end he'd professed not to give a damn about Tarrant. The man was needed to battle Calesta, and that was it. Period. Whatever would become of him afterwards wasn't his concern. Well, after everything they'd been through side by side he couldn't honestly say that he was looking forward to making good on his promise to kill the Hunter, but if the 'set-evil-against-evil' thing the Church taught went to plan in the end, who was he to complain?</p>
<p>Fooling himself had worked just fine for a while. Small warning signs he'd written off as sympathy for the man Tarrant had once been, before his abysmal fall from grace. The Prophet of the Law. After all, Tarrant's signature was on almost every holy book they had, so it was only normal to respect the small spark left of him in the monster called the Hunter, right?</p>
<p>But lately his happy bubble of denial had burst. His naked panic at Tarrant's abduction to hell and horror at witnessing his torture at the hands of the Unnamed had already spoken volumes, but still he'd refused to face the truth. But then he'd seen the adept in Karril's storage cellar, so frail and at the end of his tether like any ordinary mortal, and he couldn't bury his head in the sand any longer.</p>
<p>Tarrant had grown on him over the years. A once bitter enemy had turned first into a reluctant ally and then into a brother-in-arms, a friend even, but unfortunately the development hadn't stopped there.</p>
<p>It wasn't so much a romantic attraction in the conventional sense of the word. The adept was undeniably very pleasant to look at and moved with the grace of a dancer, but Damien wasn't tempted to write odes to his arresting eyes or hair catching the golden glow of the Core. Not very often, anyway. But the man had gotten under his skin somehow, like a slow-acting poison, until he could feel the desperate, aching need for him reverberating in his very bones. It was a frightening thing, to say the least.</p>
<p>Having spent the last years as a regular victim of Tarrant's caustic wit, he could very well imagine what was laying in store for him if the man ever found out about this. The mere thought made him break out in a cold sweat.</p>
<p>Almost toppling over when they were hit by a wave higher than the previous ones, Damien forced his straying thoughts back to the more urgent problems at hand. If their wretched boat went down because her inept sailor was miles away, he wouldn't have to worry about his emotional dilemma any longer, but he shuddered to think of mankind's fate on Erna if they ended up as fish fodder instead of saving the world from a sadistic Iezu on the rampage.</p>
<p>Suddenly Damien's eyes locked on the pack Tarrant had left behind when retreating into his lightless hold, and his mood brightened considerably. He'd seen the Hunter pinning down notes in a small itinerary bound in his trademark midnight blue silk countless times. With a little bit of luck, the vulking know-it-all had deigned to expatiate upon how to deal with a veritable tempest during the long months of their Novatlantis crossings. Tarrant certainly wouldn't appreciate any intrusion into his privacy, but he might turn a blind eye to the trespass if his notes helped them to stay afloat.</p>
<p>Still feeling slightly guilty, Damien started to rummage through the pack, deliberately ignoring several empty canteens and a well-known silver cup engraved with the Tarrant family crest, until he found the small book Gerald had carefully wrapped into a spare tunic. He leafed through page after page covered in the Hunter's neat handwriting, alternating with maps and pictures of the plants and wildlife they'd encountered during their travels, and was just about giving up with a muttered curse when he came across a masterly executed pencil drawing that stunned him into silence.</p>
<p>Gerald Tarrant had been many things in his relatively short human life: commander of Gannon's troops, courtier, author, religious figurehead, scholar and, last but not least, husband and father, just to name a few of his occupations. Unbeknownst to most, he'd also designed his family seat himself. Damien had never seen Merentha Castle with his own eyes, but its ghoulish twin hidden deep in the heart of the Forest was proof enough of its master's artistry.</p>
<p>Tarrant's portrait of a certain Knight of the Flame surpassed his own efforts to capture the Hunter's regal presence by far and left no doubt that his skills and unerring aesthetic sense hadn't suffered from death and resurrection to an accursed unlife. That he'd spent rare moments of peace and quiet on drawing Damien Kilcannon Vryce of all people was pretty astounding, to put it mildly, but it was the undeniable emotion shining forth from every pencil stroke that caused the warrior knight's heart to somersault wildly inside his chest.</p>
<p>Considering the transgression of vanity a waste of time and brain cells, Damien had never cared much about his appearance. Mirrors were for shaving, and that was about it. Of course he knew that the One God had graced him with ruggedly good looks and a fit, muscular body, but he was pretty sure that he looked nothing like the heartthrob smiling at him with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. That kind of male beauty had eluded him even in the far away days of his youth, when his complexion hadn't been ruined yet by years of being exposed to the rigours of adverse weather conditions while travelling at the behest of his Church.</p>
<p>Damien swore. He'd always been well advised to trust his gut feeling, and if he wasn't completely mistaken, Tarrant had – well, what exactly? Seen him with the eyes of his heart, beating or not? 'Merely' lusted after him? Try as he might, he couldn't wrap his head around either possibility.</p>
<p>A lot of changes in their relationship suddenly appeared in an entirely new light, though: Tarrant making do with a few canteens of cold, disembodied blood rather than feeding on him, the man's refusal to leave his side during the attack in Seth instead of flying to safety – everything made sense now if one considered the bizarre idea that the Hunter had somehow developed a crush on him.</p>
<p>And the drawing in question wasn't the only one, he realized. The vivid pictures of the flora and fauna that had piqued Tarrant's interest became fewer and fewer, were being replaced by drawings of himself sharpening his sword at the fireside or having a quick bath in a brook. Damien grinned in spite of his worries. Evidently unperturbed by any notions of shyness or decency, the adept hadn't flinched from paying great attention to parts of his anatomy usually hidden beneath his trousers. If they somehow survived what was to come, he wouldn't mind allowing the man another peek or two – for a start.</p>
<p>The thought of peeling Tarrant out of the flowing robes of an age long gone by at his leisure, just to reveal planes of smooth, creamy skin, was mouth-watering. But all at once the howling wind dragged the boat into the trough of a wave, very nearly causing it to capsize, and it took all of his strength to force it back into position. Drenched in sweat and spray, he hastily stuffed the book back into Tarrant's pack and pushed all thoughts of him to the back of his mind.</p>
<p>When the storm abated hours later, Damien muttered a heartfelt prayer of thanks that they were still afloat and unharmed. Aside from the pain in his shoulders, that is, not to mention shivering from cold and exhaustion alike.</p>
<p>The Hunter emerged from the cargo hold shortly after sunset. As soon as his companion joined him at the wheel, Damien loosened his death grip on the wet wood and made for a bench fixed to the deck, but lost his balance and stumbled against Tarrant when another wave hit their battered boat.</p>
<p>Reflexively, he clung to the man like a lifeline until what had started as a matter of sheer necessity to prevent him from keeling over became something else entirely. It wasn't the rolling of the waves that made him pull Tarrant flush against his body, all the while devouring that beautiful face so close to him with his eyes, completely enthralled.</p>
<p>"You can let go of me,”the Hunter whispered. “I won't run away. Walking on water is beyond me, I'm afraid.”</p>
<p>The biblical allusion was utterly lost on Damien. Throwing all caution to the wind, he moved even closer until his lips were but an inch away from Tarrant's mouth, relishing in the faint whiff of northern lights reflecting on snow-covered mountains that seemed to surround the Hunter even in the midst of the dry season. Hoarfrost settled on his hair and his breath came in little white clouds, but the flames of his desire burned brighter than any frost or dark taint."You want me to let go of you, Gerald? Make me!” he challenged huskily.</p>
<p>Tarrant's piercing stare seemed to reach straight into his soul. "What's come over you, Vryce? You're not the cuddly type, so I suspect that either the fear of drowning or one of Calesta's illusions has addled your brain. As you might be able to imagine, both possibilities fail to appeal to me."</p>
<p>Before Damien could do so much as think of a fitting retort, a frigid finger was pressed to his cheek, and tendrils of Tarrant's malevolent essence started to worm through the defenceless labyrinth of his mind very much in the manner of the vile serpentine creatures that had etched their way through the man's flesh.</p>
<p>Gathering his wits about him, he desperately tried to suppress any treacherous thoughts concerning Tarrant's itinerary and the eye-opener it contained, but it was too late. The glittering silver eyes went wide with shock, just to narrow to slits of fury. A moment later the warrior knight was flat on his back, screaming in unbearable agony.</p>
<p>When the pain subsided for a moment, he forced his watering eyes open and found Tarrant hovering over him like the angel of death. The Hunter's eyes were black pits of nothingness now, his face a frozen mask of inhuman calm that made Damien's skin crawl. "How can you dare, priest?” Tarrant hissed. “Although I'm loath to admit it, you're still needed to fight Calesta, but should we both survive against all odds, you'll answer to me for betraying my trust. I will make you beg for death before I'm finished with you. On your knees. That much I promise you. And now enjoy a small appetizer of what's waiting for you.”</p>
<p>Another wave of intolerable pain crashed down on Damien, even worse than before. To his dying day he wouldn't be able to describe the exact nature of something that had no real origin save the powerful will behind it, a will that hadn't been thwarted for centuries. It felt as if his immortal soul were sucked out of him drop by drop and his flesh ripped from his very bones, and all the while those unholy eyes were fixed on him, burning with twisted pleasure at his suffering.</p>
<p>And suffer he did, screaming and thrashing about like a man possessed. No human being could endure this kind of agony for long without going over the edge, and if Gerald didn't stop torturing him soon, he'd take the matter into his own hands. His sword was sharp and the waters of the Serpent cold and deep.</p>
<p>Teetering on the brink of welcome unconsciousness, he was but dimly aware that his survival instinct kicked in, forcing out barely intelligible explanation attempts in between his desperate outcries. Something about "storm... sailing... information... itinerary...save you..." must have made sense though, because the pain suddenly stopped and everything became utterly still.</p>
<p>It took Damien a while to come to his senses again. His head pounding like hell and his stomach in an uproar, he settled for drawing deep, calming breaths without bothering to open his eyes. Never mind that the planks under his cheek were wet and rough and the wind icy on his feverish skin. Everything was better than facing the Hunter.</p>
<p>“Are you all right?”</p>
<p><em>Speaking of the devil.</em> Damien stifled a sigh. Of course he was not. A part of him, the primal, atavistic part he usually kept strictly under lock and key, thirsted for immediate retaliation, but he knew very well that attacking Tarrant in his weakened state was next to suicidal. Not to mention that killing him by a stroke of luck would mean serving Calesta their world on a silver plate.</p>
<p>But there was more to it. Tarrant had been through hell, in the most literal sense of the word, roundabout a week ago, and now he was on just another death march, with the very same hell of his own making looming threateningly in the background once again. Likewise horrified at the grim future prospects and the suspected betrayal by the one and only human being he'd dared to trust in a thousand years, he'd finally snapped and reacted the way his nature demanded, inflicting pain for his own pleasure in the process. Quite understandable, in a twisted way.</p>
<p>“Are you all right, Vryce?” the Hunter repeated softly.</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Steeling himself for the inevitable confrontation, Damien dragged himself into a sitting position. “Aside from the fact that I feel like hell, no pun intended, I'm peachy.”</p>
<p>“I'm sorry.”</p>
<p>“Sorry for what? For leaving me to my own devices in midst of a vulking storm? For torturing me? Or what else is troubling you? We need to talk, Gerald, to clear up certain <em>misunderstandings</em>. Being at each others' throats for nothing at all could play directly into Calesta's dirty hands. "</p>
<p>"I wouldn't exactly call loosing control and almost killing you in the process <em> nothing. </em> <em> B </em>ut it won't happen again. Just a few more days and you'll be freed of my undesirable presence, anyway. And now get some rest as long as you can. You needn't fear that I intend to molest you in your sleep."</p>
<p>Shocked by the genuine sorrow in Tarrant's voice, Damien cast him an inquisitive glance. As usual, the Hunter's face gave nothing away, but the knuckles of his fingers clutching the wheel were white and his posture oddly rigid.</p>
<p>That brought Damien to his side. “Stop being such a drama queen,” he grumbled, faking annoyance. “You fancy me. So what? Can't deny that it comes quite as a surprise, but I wouldn't mind giving it a try."</p>
<p>“It's not that easy. Remember the compact, Vryce. The Unnamed didn't transform my failing mortal body into something else entirely just for the fun of it. My only purpose, the only reason for my continuing existence is laying the ground for my dark masters by striking fear into the human hearts. Chaos, entropy, that's what I was created for, whether you like it or not.</p>
<p>“We both know that you corrupted my pure evil with the taint of your humanity, just the way I corrupted you until you couldn't tell right from wrong any longer,” the Hunter went on. “We became friends in the end, I'll give you that, but it isn't friendship we're talking about. Any acts of procreation whatsoever are as deadly to me as the sunlight, and although taking you at your word is rather tempting, I'm not very keen on hastening my impending demise."</p>
<p>Damien grinned. "This is one for the books! I never expected to see the day your brilliant brain cells fail to notice the obvious. Your compact is broken, Gerald! You're a free agent for the first time in a millennium, and I dare say this calls for a celebration. No one's around, just you and me and the fish, and it could be our last chance at testing the waters. Call me a reckless fool, but I want you. Here and now."</p>
<p>"You never fail to amaze me. The pain I inflicted on you must have been beyond human comprehension, but yet you're courting me? You've always been prone to acting the martyr, but the masochistic tendencies you're displaying now are somewhat disturbing."</p>
<p>"Well, if you ever feel like repeating that little trick of yours, be prepared for a nasty surprise. That said, what about my suggestion? Ready to kick the Unnamed's hairy ass?”</p>
<p>For a small eternity the adept just stared at him, not even breathing. Erna's moons dared a peek through the dissolving storm clouds in the meantime, basking Tarrant's alabaster skin in a silvery shine that only served to highlight the almost surreal quality of his beauty. Vryce could have wept at the sight, or prayed. He captured the man's lips instead.</p>
<p>Almost drunk on Tarrant's taste, his fingers started their own voyage of discovery, slipped beneath layers of cool silk shrouding even cooler skin as if on their own account. His mouth followed suit, closing around a pale nipple and and sucking and nibbling at the stiffening little nub of flesh until the Hunter pushed his pelvis against him with a helpless moan.</p>
<p>Damien stifled a chuckle. If Tarrant hadn't taken to carrying a stick around in his trouser pockets lately, there couldn't be a doubt that the man was enjoying himself. Slowly, teasingly, he started to massage the bulge beneath the grey worsted pants, wondering whether the favour would be returned. "Tit for tat, Vryce," the Hunter purred, effortlessly reading his mind. The cold eyes one could drown in were fixed on him with unveiled hunger in their silvery depths, and for a moment he reminded Damien of an uncat watching a cornered rodent, languidly licking his lips in anticipation of a treat. Then Tarrant closed his fingers around him, and he forgot all about the animal kingdom.</p>
<p>Dear God in Heaven, nothing, absolutely nothing had ever felt as good as this simple act of mutual masturbation, but still it wasn't enough. “Gerald, I need you. Now,” he panted.</p>
<p>"Shush, Vryce!<em> I</em> need to keep an eye on this miserable crate, or the flames of your passion will be quenched in the Serpent. And now lean your back against the wheel and be quiet for once."</p>
<p>The distinct tone of command in Tarrant's voice would have raised his hackles under normal circumstances, but Damien was too aroused to give a shit about foolish fights for dominance. <em>Oh what the hell...</em> he thought and obeyed without protest.</p>
<p>Instantly, a long leg came up and hooked around his buttocks. Fleeting thoughts about miraculously vanishing leggings and the deplorable absence of a decent oil were scattered into the winds when Tarrant guided his hand to his perineum. "You tend to forget that I'm an adept,” the Hunter chuckled. “As such, I'm in perfect control of my body. Relaxing my muscles and producing a lubricant is mere child's play for me. That being said, I'm somewhat out of practice. It might be wise to go easy for a while."</p>
<p><em> 'Out of practice'? </em> <em> Struck by a nasty bolt of jealousy, Damien blinked. Up to now, he'd taken for granted that their same-sex tryst was a first for Tarrant also. The man had been married and sired three children, after all. Evidently, he'd been wrong, as so very often in their long and tumultuous acquaintance. </em></p>
<p>"Are you ready to go on, or shall we discuss the history of my sex life first? It's up to you.”</p>
<p>Narrow hips grinding against him in a slow, hypnotic rhythm made the decision all the more easy. Tarrant snorted. “I thought as much. Now curl your finger and leave the rest to me. A cherished friend taught me to enjoy this when I was still very young. It's a different kind of pleasure and not everybody's cup of tee, but I remember preferring it to the more conventional method."</p>
<p>True to his word, the adept took it slow for a time. Damien sent a silent <em>thank you</em> to his anatomy teacher at the seminary in Ganji-on-the-Cliffs. Old Healer Martin had thought it of utmost importance that his pupils knew everything there was to know about human anatomy, including the peculiarities of the male body, and some tavern talks late at night had completed the job. Hence, he wasn't altogether surprised that it made Tarrant shudder and gasp when his finger brushed over a certain spot at the front of the man's rectum.</p>
<p>Spellbound, he watched the grey eyes slipping out of focus. Tarrant was moving harder against him now, each and every of his quickening thrusts accompanied by small sounds of pleasure that went straight to Damien's cock. The parameters of his existence might differ from the mortal plane by a long shot, but there couldn't be a doubt that the adept was approaching his first orgasm in more than nine hundred years.</p>
<p>But suddenly Tarrant became utterly still. Next thing, the warrior knight found himself about two feet away, without a clue how he'd gotten there and why the heck his companion had traded places with him. Damien couldn't help but gaping at him in utter bewilderment. He'd always known that the Hunter was much stronger than his lean frame suggested, but the way the man had budged his still considerable bulk like a sack of feathers, let alone moving faster than the human eye could follow, was pretty disconcerting.</p>
<p>Tarrant raised an eyebrow in sardonic amusement. Then he nodded, just once, and turned around to face the wheel. “Come to me, Vryce,” he whispered. He needn't ask twice.</p>
<p>His body was like ice. The shock took Damien's breath away, and for a last lucid moment he faltered when reality hit him like a blow. But he couldn't stop now, not with Gerald tightening all around him with every thrust and making those sounds at the back of his throat that he could have eaten right out of the adept's mouth.</p>
<p>Fearing a somewhat premature end to their lovemaking, Damien tried to concentrate on some of the mental patterns he usually employed for a Working, but it was no use when the channel opened wide, drowning him in his lover's pleasure.</p>
<p>Coping with the rising tension in his own body was one thing. He'd done that before, when making love to a woman or even during masturbation. But to share Tarrant's rapture at being filled to the brim and having that responsive little bundle of nerves stimulated until he thought he'd explode <em>plus</em> the unbearable friction caused by moving inside him – it was too much. "Oh God, Gerald, I can't take this much longer,” he panted. “Do something, or this will be over soon."</p>
<p>Damien sighed with relief when the level of his arousal went down a notch or two. Thank goodness the Hunter was still able to Work, no matter how turned on he was.</p>
<p>As for this, Tarrant was moving with him now, his muscles hard as stone and each of his sobbing breaths a cry for release, but somehow he seemed to be stuck just short of the point of no return. Still uncomfortably close himself, Damien dug his nails into his palms, so focussed on delaying his ejaculation that he wasn't even aware that he drew blood.</p>
<p>The Hunter froze in mid-motion, perking his head up like a scenting animal, and suddenly Damien knew what his lover needed to find fulfilment. “Help yourself,” he prompted, raising his hands to Tarrant's mouth.”It would be foolish to waste it.”</p>
<p>For once, the adept didn't argue. His tongue darted out like a snake's, lapping greedily at the small wounds. It was a strangely erotic sensation, although not half as hot as the ecstatic moan accompanying it. Tarrant's movements lost their rhythm in those final seconds, became erratic. Then the wooden wheel groaned under the grip of his fingers when the lean frame in Damien's arms started to convulse in long, shuddering spasms. The Hunter's orgasm triggered his own, and for a while he perceived nothing but the irresistible pulse in his groin and the unbelievably satisfying sensation of spilling his seed deep inside his lover's body .</p>
<p>When Damien could think halfway straight again, nothing much had changed. He was still hard in spite of his recent climax, presumably thanks to a Working, and Tarrant was still moving as if in a trance. Presumably planning on catching up on a thousand years of enforced celibacy, he seemed to have no intention whatsoever to settle for a one-shot.</p>
<p><em> More, Vryce! Don't you stop now... </em> <em> it whispered at the back of Damien's mind, and it wouldn't have taken the faeborn power oozing from every unspoken syllable to bring him to heel. </em></p>
<p><em> Suddenly the Hunter's head snaked around in an impossible, utterly inhuman motion until his mouth came to rest above Damien's jugular. The warrior knight </em> froze at the feel of sharp teeth denting his skin. So far, Tarrant had bitten him only once, in a blind, instinctive struggle for survival after being rescued from that damned grate, and the experience hadn't been pleasant. But the times had changed, and they'd changed with them. A mere year ago the adept would have stopped at nothing to satisfy his unholy cravings and to hell with everything else, but here he was, apparently waiting for the consent of his human lover although his body was vibrating with barely suppressed want.</p>
<p>This simple act of consideration warmed Damien's heart. <em>Yes,</em> he sent across the channel. <em>Take what you need, Gerald. I'm offering.</em></p>
<p>Tarrant yielded to his hunger with a low, wistful sigh. It didn't hurt when razor-sharp fangs that hadn't existed a minute ago pierced Damien's skin, didn't hurt at all, but a strange change came over him he could never even hope to explain to another mortal.</p>
<p>His immediate surroundings instantly faded into a dim twilight zone, with the notable exception of the creature sucking at him like a babe at his mother's breast. Paradoxically, his other senses sharpened, but were warped into something utterly alien to the mortal plane. Tarrant's unique scent mingled with that of stars blazing in the depths of space, each galaxy dancing to its own ethereal tune that almost made him weep with sheer delight, while the dark fae twisted and twirled at the peripheral edge of his vision, adding its own seductive notes to the otherworldly symphony he could not only hear but also taste and feel.</p>
<p>Overwhelmed by the staggering sensory input, Damien wasn't up to a second climax. But Tarrant's desperate need screaming at him through the channel forced him on, caused his pelvis to move harder and faster and again and again until the adept bit down convulsively, moaning into his bleeding flesh like a man suffering agonies.</p>
<p>The first thing Damien noticed when he came to was the fierce, burning ache in his neck, followed by the sounds of the ocean and the soft rustle of silk. Tarrant's clothes were impeccable as usual and his aloof facade firmly back in place, but the warrior knight knew him well enough to recognize the ever so slight crease between his elegantly arched eyebrows as a sure sign of distress. "You look pale, Gerald. I hope I didn't wear you out too much," he quipped in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood.</p>
<p>The Hunter wasn't amused. "This mustn't happen again,” he breathed.” The consequences are... inconceivable."</p>
<p>“Are you crazy? What's just come to pass between us was the best thing that has ever occurred to me. If we somehow survive this vulking mess, I'm counting on many happy returns until we're both old and grey. Well, until I'm old and grey, that is."</p>
<p>"The <em>'</em><em>best thing that has ever occurred to you'</em> very nearly killed you. <em>I</em> very nearly killed you. Again. As you very well know, a true Healing is beyond me, but I sealed the wounds as best as I could. Everything else will have to wait until we go ashore and the earth fae is accessible.” The Hunter sighed. “That includes accelerating the production of your blood cells. I took too much of your blood in the throes of passion, another mistake I don't care to repeat."</p>
<p>Damien struggled to his feet and pulled him into a hug. "I feel more alive than I have in ages, so to hell with it!”</p>
<p>“It was a close call, Vryce.”</p>
<p>“Maybe. Much more important in my book is that the breaking of your compact seems to have some very welcome side effects, aside from being able to enjoy a romp in the hay. You can feel compassion now, true repentance that you jeopardized my life, and don't you dare pretending that it's just because I'm the moron who's willing to die at your side. Redemption isn't out of the picture, Gerald. Can't you get that into your stubborn head and stop fretting for once?"</p>
<p>The adept said nothing, but nestled closer against him in a gesture so very human that it almost moved Damien to tears. It remained to be seen whether Tarrant would survive the next fortnight, granting him the time necessary to atone for his sins if such a thing was possible at all. But whatever might happen to him, Damien would stand by him until the end and do all that was humanly possible to deliver the man from evil, come hell or high water. Nothing else mattered.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>